Jealousy
by Bottled.Stardust
Summary: In which the Doctor and Clara are both getting dangerously close to madness thanks to the countless days they had to endure (and in the right order, too!) aboard the submarine while on their way back to the TARDIS. Clara's been hanging around with a rather attractive soldier, and the Doctor is not going to admit that he's feeling rather jealous (even though, well, he is.)


The Doctor stretched out in his makeshift bunk, staring up at the array of pipes above his head. Okay, so the first three days aboard the submarine hadn't been awful, but the disgusting food, tiny space and straight progression of time were starting to have a negative effect on him. Besides, he was lonely. Clara was always off somewhere—no telling what she was up to. She'd probably taken control of the entire sub while he'd been laying there.

The sound of a creaking door made the Doctor raise his head, just in time for Clara to quietly say goodbye to someone outside and step into their tiny room. It wasn't a real bunk, of course—there wasn't room for them in the real bunks (well, there sort of was, thanks to the deaths, but no one wanted to think about that), and the captain had immediately vetoed Clara sleeping in the room with all the men, anyways. She'd looked a bit freaked out at the idea of spending two weeks sleeping alone in what was essentially a large material cupboard, so now they shared it. Extremely cramped, but at least they were on their way back to the TARDIS. Now, Clara closed the door behind her and nodded at him. "Hey," She said quietly.

"Where've you been?" The Doctor asked her, pulling himself into a sitting position. "I've hardly seen you around all day." (The fact that 'day' was actually a concrete term outside of the TARDIS was still something he was getting used to).

Clara shrugged and pulled the heavy brown coat she'd been wearing closer around herself. "Out socializing, unlike a certain Time Lord I could name right about now."

"Ah, but you couldn't name me, that's the thing."

"Close enough." Clara ran a hand through her hair, visibly grimacing. "I feel disgusting. All I want right now is a nice, hot shower."

"Mere hours to go, Clara. We'll be back in the TARDIS, and I can take you back to the Maitland's like you didn't miss a thing."

"I'm going to keep reminding myself of that so I don't go nuts," She replied, flopping down onto her own sleeping mat. "In the meantime, don't touch me. At all."

The Doctor rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her. "Got it, boss."

Clara turned her attention away from him, instead beginning to fiddle with her oversized jacket.

Suddenly curious, the Doctor nodded to it. "Where'd you get that thing? I didn't see you leave the TARDIS with it."

"It belongs to Anton," She told him, a small smile gracing her lips. "He gave it to me after everything was over with. It's comfy."

Every single cell of the Doctor's mind snapped to attention at her words. "Who's Anton?" He asked, just a little too quickly.

"One of the soldiers. He helped me learn my way around the submarine and all, and he talks to me when I'm bored. He's been lovely." Clara's smile widened slightly.

"Oh, he has?" The Doctor felt his mood instantly darken. _Why are you getting irritated? _He asked himself. _So she's been with a bloke lots lately. You're one too, technically. It's no different. But it doesn't matter anyways, because she's not yours to control_. "That's great, Clara." He almost had to force the words out through gritted teeth.

She obviously noticed the change in his tone, and looked over at him, eyebrows raised. "What was that?" She asked him.

"Nothing," He replied sulkily.

"Was that jealousy? That sounded like jealousy, Doctor." A hint of teasing amusement entered Clara's voice. "Don't worry, I'm getting off this hell-bound submarine as soon as I can. I'm not going to run away with a man after I've already run away with another, slightly more mad one."

Her words did little to restore the Doctor's previous mood, so he said nothing in reply and continued glaring at some of the pipes snaking along the ground. He could feel Clara's eyes examining him closely, before she rose to her feet.

"I'm leaving again," She told him, her voice sounding a little hesitant, as if she thought him cross with her. "I told Anton I'd only be a moment."

"Fine. Have fun."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, until she was out the door. Her footsteps, now accompanied by another pair, grew fainter as they walked down the hall. When he could no longer hear them, the Doctor let himself fall backwards onto his makeshift bed and rolled to face the wall, feeling decidedly pouty, though there was no way he'd admit why. Did he know why in the first place? _Of course you do, you're not stupid,_ He snapped to himself. _No, but that's most definitely not what I'm irritated about. _

After a few more useless, back-and-forth arguments in his head, the Doctor finally gave up on the thought process and shifted onto his back, where he almost dozed off (though Time Lords didn't normally sleep, he'd been doing an awful lot of it on the submarine—he suspected it was from prolonged experience to time flowing in the right order)for what must have been over an hour, because he was brought out of his daze by the sounds of cheering from somewhere else in the sub.

Quickly, the Doctor got up and opened the door of their 'room', following the excited yelling until he was in the main control room. Two things immediately hit him—the smell of alcohol, and the fact that Clara was in the midst of the soldiers, hugging one of them excitedly. The Doctor's expression soured further. _That must be Anton. _He was (though the Doctor hated to admit it), rather good-looking, with dark hair and eyes and a strong build. He was easily the Doctor's height, maybe a little taller. The Doctor had seen him around the sub, even talked to him a few times. He'd always been perfectly nice and given the Doctor no cause to dislike him. However, seeing him now with a crowd of other soldiers, a bottle of alcohol in one hand and his other arm slung around Clara, made him look instantly less trustworthy. He was exuding the same air that many of the other men around him were—that is, drunk as a pig on strong, probably disgusting liquor.

Everyone was obviously excited about something, but they seemed too busy talking together to bother with the Doctor, leaving him to push through the crowds to where Clara was."Clara!" He called over the noise. "What's going on?"

Clara immediately wiggled out from Anton's embrace and came running over. "We're nearly there!" She told him excitedly. "Only a few more minutes!"

"Brilliant!" The Doctor pulled Clara into a warm hug, his jealousy—no, _irritation,_ he reminded himself—forgotten for the moment. "No more time aboard this tin can." Just the thought of finally being back in his TARDIS made everything seem better. He rested his chin on the top of Clara's head and closed his eyes, breathing out a tiny sigh of relief. She hugged him back tightly, her face pressed against his shoulder in a way that felt so familiar. For a moment, they could forget that they'd even gotten stuck aboard a tiny submarine for two weeks, and that it was just them off on a regular adventure.

The illusion was shattered by the feeling of a rough hand on the Doctor's shoulder, shoving him backwards so suddenly that he and Clara broke apart. The Doctor blinked his eyes open to see that Anton, bottle still in hand, had pushed him away with a glaring expression on his face. "Trying to make a move on Clara, huh?" He spluttered, slurring his words in anger. "Think I don't got eyes?"

The outburst had come out of nowhere. It seemed that Anton must have been one of those people who, while docile when sober, was easily affected by alcohol, and that he had been heavily drinking. The young man had what could've been mistaken as a murderous glint in his eye as he violently pulled Clara away, still staring down the Doctor.

The moment his hand touched her arm, Clara reacted by shoving him away, straight into a group of his friends. They seemed unsure of what to do about this, though a few helped him back up when he stumbled. Now, he turned on Clara. "So I protect you from the likes of _him,_" He snarled, pointing at the Doctor, "And that's what I get in return?"

Clara glared back. "Protecting me? From _what?_ The Doctor? Anton, I _came here with him._ You need to stop drinking, it's affecting you." She made a move to reach for the bottle in his hand, but he smacked it away. She recoiled, curling her injured hand into a fist as it reddened from the slap.

"He doesn't really care about you," Anton growled. "Where has he been this last week? Ignoring you? Leaving you to wander around by yourself because he didn't feel like being around you?"

"He doesn't need to spend every waking moment with me for me to know he cares about me," Clara argued back, crossing her arms, but there was a dangerous hint of doubt in her voice.

"I'm right here, you know!" The Doctor broke in, trying to distract Anton's attention from Clara. The way he was looking at her sent up a billion warning signals in the Doctor's mind, putting him on high alert.

Anton paid no attention to the Time Lord, instead moving closer to Clara. "Can we talk?" He asked her, his voice grating like metal. "In private?"

Clara looked frozen, like a deer in the headlights. It was clear from her expression that this was not how Anton usually behaved around her, and that it was making her nervous. However, she regained her wits the instant he took a step towards her, delivering a sharp smack straight across his cheek and then jumping back as he yelled in blind rage and swung out one fist. The rest of the crew had fallen silent at their comrade's sudden fit, and no one was moving to hold him back. The Doctor dove forward just in time to step in front of Clara. Anton glared at the Doctor, slurring his words again as he spoke. "Get away from her, you—"

The Doctor hesitated for half a second before he moved, perhaps without his brain's complete consent. He hit Anton in the stomach so hard that the Russian soldier stumbled and fell over, screaming profanity at the Doctor. Finally, a few of his less-drunken friends moved to help him up, holding him back as he continued yelling obscenities. When it became clear that he was being restrained and was no longer a problem, the Doctor turned to Clara immediately. "Are you all right?" He asked her. "He didn't hit you?"

Clara grimaced and held up her left hand, which had red marks on it. "Just once, I'm all right," She promised.

"Good." The Doctor enveloped her in a hug. "And don't listen to anything he says, Clara. Of _course _I care about you."

"I know," She mumbled into his coat. "Don't be so daft, Doctor."

He smiled. "Got it."

"What the hell is going on here?"

It was the Captain. He had appeared at the far end of the tiny control room, arms crossed, looking between the Doctor and Clara's embrace and Anton, who was struggling while having his arms held behind his back, muttering swear words.

"Ah." The Doctor turned to him. "The submarine has reached the TARDIS, or so I heard. Now please, can Clara and I finally get off this bloody thing?"


End file.
